The Walk by Kimberly Stutevoss

THE SINGING by C. K. Williams

I was walking home down a hill near our house
on a balmy afternoon
under the blossoms
Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here
every spring with
their burgeoning forth

When a young man turned in from a corner singing
no it was more of
a cadenced shouting
Most of which I couldn't catch I thought because
the young man was
black speaking black

It didn't matter I could tell he was making his
song up which pleased
me he was nice-looking
Husky dressed in some style of big pants obviously
full of himself
hence his lyrical flowing over

We went along in the same direction then he noticed
me there almost
beside him and "Big"
He shouted-sang "Big" and I thought how droll
to have my height
incorporated in his song

So I smiled but the face of the young man showed nothing
he looked
in fact pointedly away
And his song changed "I'm not a nice person"
he chanted "I'm not
I'm not a nice person"

No menace was meant I gathered no particular threat
but he did want
to be certain I knew
That if my smile implied I conceived of anything like concord
between us I should forget it

That's all nothing else happened his song became
indecipherable to
me again he arrived
Where he was going a house where a girl in braids
waited for him on
the porch that was all

No one saw no one heard all the unasked and
unanswered questions
were left where they were
It occurred to me to sing back "I'm not a nice
person either" but I
couldn't come up with a tune

Besides I wouldn't have meant it nor he have believed
it both of us
knew just where we were
In the duet we composed the equation we made
the conventions to
which we were condemned

Sometimes it feels even when no one is there that
someone something
is watching and listening
Someone to rectify redo remake this time again though
no one saw nor
heard no one was there

The Walk by Kimberly Stutevoss

I was walking down the street to our house

The other afternoon while it was brisk

Underneath the white clouds, puffy and full

With each gust of wind the leaves of the trees

Rustled and carried the tune of autumn

At the corner a young man came around

With a hop in his step and a tune loud

I did not understand, it was foreign

Spanish, French, or perhaps it was Russian

Even though I liked it, I did not know

It did not matter, his joy spread to me

He had been wearing a hat turned backwards

With jeans too big that fell to his kneecaps

Each note he sang his confidence grew more

I wanted to join but I could not

With each step we grew closer to each other

And when he noticed me he stopped his tune

He was not as confident as he seemed

I smiled to him but he did not return

And he scurried away to 35^th

It was because of me that he had stopped

His joyful tune that I learned cherish

I tried to sing a new jubilant tune

I could not find the words to sing out loud

Each new word became indecipherable

If only someone had been around him

To hear the song that he had sung so nice

But no one was there to witness the magic

No one saw nor heard cause no one was there

No one was there to remember the joy